That Laugh Was Mine
* The following story is totally, completely,
100% a figment of my imagination *
There he was. Jon Stewart . . . the
one, the only, Jon Stewart. He was beautiful, even more beautiful than I had
thought he would be. He sat with this air around him, this air of "I don't care."
This nonchalance that most people had to "affect" . . . he just had it. He sat
there, reading the newspaper, sipping on a hot drink he'd bought (I imagine
coffee or hot chocolate). I wondered what it was he was reading for a second,
but then I realized it didn't even matter. There he was, and he was beautiful.
And then there SHE was. Just the mere
sight of her made my nails dig into my hands. The knowledge that it was her
that got to kiss him at night. It was her that he smiled at. It was her that
he hugged. It was her that he made love to. It was her that got to hear him
. . . it was her! It was Tracey.
Why should she get all the glory?!
Why did she get to see him last each night and first each morning? Why did she
get the pleasure of seeing him smile that "only for you" smile that everyone
saves for the one they love? What
made her so special? Was it her hair? Cause mine's silkier. Was it her smile?
Cause I have one too, and I've been told it's quite a nice one. Was it her body?
Cause, mine's not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Was it her sense of humor?
Cause, mine is what I pride myself on.
And then she sat next to him and took
his paper. I saw the way his eyes twinkled at her as he yanked it back, making
a witty comeback that I couldn't quite catch. I saw how she looked at him until
he put down the paper and took her hands. They just held hands and smiled at
each other. The reason why he loved her was simple. She was her. That's all
the reason one ever needs to love anyone, isn't it? I loved him cause he was
him, didn't I? Or, at least, I loved him for the him that he was on my TV screen.
Maybe it was that hair . . . maybe it was that smile . . . maybe it was that
body . . . maybe it was something in particular that just drew him to her.
I had to smile to myself then, as he
returned to his sports page and she took to looking over the sales page for
Macy's. Jealousy can only get you so far anyway. I guess I'll just have to settle
for those two seconds in "Playing By Heart" that make me fantasize about what
it would be like to kiss him. I'll just have to settle for a half hour every
night, Monday through Thursday, on Comedy Central to see his beautiful face
and twinkling eyes. I guess I'll just have to settle for . . .
"Excuse me . . . ma'am?"
I blink and look to my left to see
him, Jon Stewart, looking at me, smiling that sweet smile of his. Like a genius,
I say something incredibly witty to that: "Heh?"
He points his finger to under my chair.
"Could you hand me my pen? I would get it myself, but frankly, it's in a place
that would require me to molest you, so . . . ." He shrugged in a way that always
made me giggle, and giggle I did.
"Sure," I said, bending down and grabbing
the pen that was lodged between my purse and my leg. Indeed, his grabbing the
pen would have required him putting at least one hand between my ankles. I rose
up triumphantly with the pen in my hand. He reached out but I closed my hand
around the pen.
He cocked his head to the side, laughing
slightly. "Um . . . my pen?"
I nodded. "Uh huh . . . ."
He looked at Tracey and then back at
me, holding out his hand. "Could I . . . uh . . . have it?"
I nodded. "As long as you do something
He laughed then. "It's a pen, for Christ
I bent down and opened my purse. I
grabbed my little notebook, flipped it open to a blank page, and handed him
the pen along with the notebook. "Could I please have your autograph?"
He laughed again and I relished the
fact that I made Jon Stewart laugh. That laugh was my laugh. It was for me.
I had solicited that laugh, and I had earned it for myself. No one else could
claim that laugh . . . no one else had even heard that laugh, but that part
was beside the point. That laugh was mine!
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Kelly, with a y... K-E-L-L-Y" I told
With a flourish he signed it as Tracey
threw away their trash as she prepared for their departure. He shut the book
closed and started to hand it to me. As I reached out for it, he yanked it back,
and I saw a mischievous twinkle in his eye that was meant for me. That was my
twinkle. It was for me. I had solicited that twinkle, and I had . . . okay,
okay, enough with the "my" bullcrap.
"But first . . ." he said.
I laughed, and he laughed again. "First
what?" I asked.
He held out his hand and I took it.
Shaking my hand he finally handed over my notebook. "Nice to meet you, Kelly."
I smiled up at him. "No, my pleasure,
Jon . . . er . . . Mr. Stewart . . . . "
"Jon . . . totally my pleasure."
Tracey came back then and looped her
arm through his, smiling at me. "Ready baby?" She asked quietly.
He nodded, pointing at me. "Tracey,
Kelly . . . Kelly, Tracey . . . She's apparently a fan of mine?"
Tracey smiled, and she really did have
a nice smile I had to admit. "Nice to meet you." She said, shaking my hand.
"See ya around!" he called over his
shoulder as he and Tracey walked out of the café, and probably out of
my life for good. I mean, what were the chances of me ever seeing the man of
my dreams in real life again?
I opened my book and smiled at my very
own personal Jon Stewart Signature:
"You Pen thief you! Damn you Kelly!!"
No, I forgive you. Good luck
in all your endeavors.
-- Jon Stewart
That autograph was mine . . . all mine.
Added February 19, 2002.